


Ready Aim Fire

by DeceitfulHonesty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angel Invasion, Angelic Grace, Apocalypse, F/M, Hate to Love, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeceitfulHonesty/pseuds/DeceitfulHonesty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, a mysterious object fell to Earth, giving Dean a strange power he could barely control. Then the invasion began. Angels poured from the sky, decimating an unknown amount of the population and cutting off all human communications. A decade later, Dean's odd power led him to command the Resistance, a secret militia aimed at protecting the last remnants of the human species and fighting against the angels for control of their home. When Castiel is sent to Earth to weed out the Resistance, he runs headlong into the one human who can help him end the war between their people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
    Hushed whispers ran through the gathered crowd as Castiel glanced around the large circular auditorium. This amphitheater was so rarely used, Castiel had never been inside it before. There was only one arched hallway that led to a private chamber where council members could discuss and prepare before the gathering. The ceiling was completely open to allow angels to fly in and out. The walls were tall and lined with wide benches that could accommodate all the angels in Heaven and then some. The floor was flat and white like all the official structures, with only a short, raised platform in the middle for the speakers. Castiel sat between two of his older brothers, Gabriel and Balthazar. Lucifer was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected as he was the Chief Commander and the one who called the gathering. Gabriel chattered away idly about some angel from Raphael’s garrison and picked at his fingernails, while Balthazar preened his ash gray feathered, puffing them up slightly while winking at someone a few rows back. Everyone besides his brothers seemed clustered into small groups, hiding in their wings or whispering conspiratorially at each other, wondering what the urgency of this gathering was. Balthazar and Gabriel appeared nonchalant about the sudden gathering. Gabriel loudly recanted his favorite pranks he and his friends pulled, all of which Castiel had heard before, if not been a victim to. Balthazar paused in his preening and flexing to summon a small ball of white light in his hand and gently push it towards a tawny-winged angel, to have it burst into a small flower in her lap.

  
    Castiel frowned at the pointless use of grace and began to fidget with his sash. Castiel and the other fledglings were requited to wear blue sashes to distinguish them, as they had not been selected for another rank yet. There were plenty of yellows and whites to distinguish soldiers from trainees. The only red robes Castiel saw were on Gabriel, marking him as an archangel, one of the high council members and commander of a fourth of the soldiers of Heaven. The other archangels, Michael, Raphael, and Lucifer were suspiciously missing.  He was jolted out his thoughts by Gabriel’s elbow in his rib as he finally got around to the punchline of his story.

  
    “-and then, get this, she levitated the sword right out if the guard's belt and hid it in a sand dune in the Sahara Desert! He didn't find it for a month,” Gabriel cackled loudly, earning glares from the nearby angels. Balthazar joined in, nearly falling off his seat in a fit of laughter while Castiel rolled his eyes at their antics.

  
    "Wait wait wait. That's why Raphael kept calling those councils to make sure everyone had their equipment for guard duty?" Balthazar continued to laugh raucously and high-fived Gabriel.

  
    “Both of you, be serious,” Castiel said, “This is obviously an urgent situation we’re in and you’re acting like nothing is wrong.”

  
     “There is nothing wrong, worry wart,” Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes, “Luci's probably just got his panties in a twist ‘cause too many angels fell asleep on guard duty again. Besides, it’s not your problem. You won’t be put to work for a while anyway.”

  
    Castiel ruffled his black feathers in irritation, “I don’t think Lucifer would call all the angels together for the first time in 2 millenia for some shoddy guard work,” Castiel insisted. Gabriel was right on the second point, though, Castiel and a small number of other angels were too young to be trained as soldiers yet. If a problem were to arise, he would have no role of significance to play in it.  Whatever Gabriel meant to say in response was cut short by Lucifer’s entrance into the amphitheater, with Raphael somberly following to his right. A hush fell over the crowd as he took his place on the platform in the center of the circular room. Gabriel resumed casually picking his fingernails, but the playfulness was gone, and his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

  
    Lucifer cleared his throat to ensure all eyes were on him and began his statement, his voice naturally magnified to reach all corners of the enormous space, “Brothers, sisters, friends. I have called you here today to request - no, to demand - immediate action against the plague that is ravishing our world,” he said, calmly. A collective intake of breath ran through the angels, along with many looks of confusion. Castiel cocked his head, puzzled. What plague was ravishing their world? Was it from Earth? Surely their sentries on Earth would have notified the council immediately if there were. Lucifer held up a hand to silence the crowd and continued with his speech.

  
    “You all know the plague I speak of. The humans who have infested the world that is rightfully ours. They have pulverized the land, depleted their resources and are now setting their sights on other planets to destroy. I want to personally ensure this pox on the planet will be contained and controlled before they can render our beautiful world a wasteland,” He paused, to allow his words to sink in for a few moments. The noise of thousands of voices rose again in the silence, weighing the words and shouting questions. For some angels, it was well known that they disliked humans. The majority, though, were indifferent; they did their duty watching and rarely intervening in human affairs. Balthazar locked eyes with Castiel, trying to mask his fear, but Castiel could see it in the tight lines of his face. Lucifer was suggesting a full scale invasion and genocide. It was completely unprecedented, not to mention the exact opposite of what they were meant to do. Castiel and Balthazar both looked towards Gabriel for answers, but he did not stop to offer explanation before launching off the bench and gliding to the floor near Lucifer.

  
    “Luci, you giant bag of dicks,” Gabriel’s voice cut through the chatter. All heads turned to Gabriel who stood behind Lucifer, rage radiating from his entire body.

  
    “Do you not support my cause, brother,” Lucifer replied, sounding disappointed.

  
    “Don’t pull that act, bro,” Gabriel spat as he marched towards Lucifer, “You don’t give a rat’s ass about Earth. You’ve just been jealous of the humans since they stood upright and moved out of their caves and now that they're getting smarter, you're scared."

  
    “Gabriel, I had hoped you would not be difficult about this. Humans are destructive, but weak. I’m merely proposing population control. The Earth will benefit from this and we can make it our new home,” Lucifer reasoned. This statement was met with a few approving murmurs throughout the crowd.

  
    Gabriel merely scoffed, “You haven’t left heaven in centuries, why would you move to Earth just because of a few less humans?”  
    Lucifer looked down, sadly. Castiel had seen his brothers fight before, but never had Lucifer been so quiet or looked so disappointed. Their fights usually consisted of screaming matches and at least one broken item in their home. Lucifer was a brilliant manipulator and was most likely hoping to gain support with his act. Gabriel began circling the speaker platform while they talked and Lucifer stepped down to join him.

  
    “I hope you know, the invasion will take place with or without your support, Gabriel,” Lucifer threatened.

  
    “No, it won’t, Luci. Because I’m going to stop you,” Gabriel replied, unsheathing his sword from his robes. Balthazar tensed beside Castiel. Gabriel and Lucifer rarely escalated to violence and never with a lethal weapon. The whole amphitheater held its breath, knowing this could not end well.

  
    Lucifer pulled his best shocked expression, “You would fight me, your own brother? For a bunch of hairless apes?” he said in disbelief.

  
    “Yeah, I would,” Gabriel shot back, “because we're supposed to take care of them and guide them. Not exterminate them.”

  
     Castiel jumped up and spread his wings to go separate the two, but Balthazar yanked the bottom of his wing and clamped a hand over his mouth.

  
    “I’m not letting you get stuck in the crossfire of this, Cassie. They’ll sort it out” he whispered. Castiel protested against the hand over his mouth, but Balthazar ignored him, returning his attention to the center of the room. Gabriel turned his back on Lucifer and spoke to the silent audience.

  
    “People, do we really believe hostile takeover is the only way to improve humanity? We have been gently guiding them for thousands of years and, I’ll admit, they’re slow. But they’re improving and trying to get better. And that’s what makes them good,” Gabriel spoke with a sincerity that the garrison had no choice but to believe. Gabriel had also spent the most time among humans and on Earth, so his argument seemed to make more sense than one coming from an angel who had not seen a human since the Dark Ages.

  
    Gabriel’s eyes lit up at his apparent success, while Castiel’s eyes were drawn to Lucifer, who silently unsheathed his sword. Castiel screamed a warning to Gabriel, but it was muffled by Balthazar’s hand still firmly clamped over his mouth. Gabriel turned to face Lucifer again only to have Lucifer plunge his sword into Gabriel’s chest before he could react. Castiel thrashed against Balthazar, hoping he could get to Gabriel in time while knowing he was already too late. Lucifer twisted sword and then roughly ripped it out, carving out a small ball of white light that was the core of Gabriel’s grace and tossing it to the ground like a piece of trash.

  
    Lucifer dropped Gabriel’s body to the floor, his golden wings crumpling awkwardly underneath him, and wiped his hands on his robes. The room was silent, no one wanting to even breathe to break the silence.

  
    “Prepare to invade,” Lucifer began, causing everyone to flinch at the sudden noise, “We begin at once.” Lucifer stepped over the still body of his brother, flew out of the auditorium, a few angels immediately following. For the majority, the shock was still too fresh and the auditorium was filled with oppressive silence, all eyes locked on the dead archangel on the floor. The only sound was Castiel crying into Balthazar’s shoulder, as he watched his fallen brother’s grace burn through the floor and disappear.

* * *

    Dean stumbled along the boulders and stones that made the bed of the creek, nudging the rocks around with his toes in search of the perfect skipping stones. Sammy was 10, so it was about time he learned the art of rock skipping, a skill Dean himself had learned when he was Sam’s age. Since Dean was starting high school in a few weeks he had to teach Sammy all his life skills this summer before his time was filled with “studying” and trying to pick up senior chicks. Unfortunately, there were no good rocks at the pond nearby his house so he had to wander down towards the creek about half a mile away where there were larger stones to find the best ones.

  
    Dean picked up a few promising looking stones and held them level with his line of vision to assess if they were flat enough, before pocketing some of the better ones and tossing the rest. Dean eventually determined that he had enough stones for at least the first lesson, and turned to head back home, as the sun was getting low in the sky.

  
    As he started back, he found a few more stones and his eye was caught by a particularly flat one that was bright blue. He bent down to pick it up and discovered that it was just a shard of broken glass, not uncommon near the creek, which had its corners rounded out by the rocks and sand of the creek’s banks. Dean held it up to the sky to catch the light better and squinted at the sunlight shining through it. Wasn’t the sun setting a minute ago? Dean thought. His eyes searched the sky, locating the sun nearing the horizon to the West, and what seemed to be a second sun, which appeared out of nowhere and lit the sky as if it were noon. Dean had never seen anything like this and was squinted his eyes to protect them from the burning light. Is this a meteor or something? He wondered, thinking back on all the science lessons he never paid attention to. He stared for what felt like hours, until he realized the sun seemed to be growing. It took his mind a minute to catch up to what his eyes were seeing, but when it did it started screaming It’s coming right towards you, get out of the way!   

  
    Dean tripped over his own feet, scrambling to get out of the way and run back to the shelter of home. He crested the hill and could see his home, lights on in the kitchen as if nothing was out of the ordinary, while he sprinted away from the mysterious fireball. He could feel the heat radiating from behind him as he sprinted.  He needed to make it across this field to warn his family before it hit. The thought had barely formed in his mind when the air crackled like there was an electric current running through it.  The fireball crashed into the ground right in front of Dean, throwing him backwards. A scalding heat seared into Dean’s chest as he flew through the air, the breath punched from his lungs by the force, and he crashed to the ground, the edges of his vision going blurry for a moment.

  
    He lay there, unable to move as something burned from the center of his chest like fresh lava being shot into his body. He screamed from the pain as the fire melted into his bones. The heat burned for what felt like days until settling under his ribs. The fuzziness of his vision cleared and he inspected his limbs, half expecting at least one of them to be missing or there to be molten rocks beneath him. Neither was the case. All limbs present, not a scratch on him. The only indications that anything out of the ordinary had just happened was a layer of dust on Dean’s skin, the feeling of hot coals sitting under his heart, and smoke rising from a nearby crater. He hauled himself to his feet, despite the screaming of his muscles and shuffled to the edge of the crater. The crater was massive, at least the size of a house, and ringed with strange flowers and ferns where there had only been rocks and weeds before. He looked around for a meteor or a bomb or something that could have caused the crater but found nothing but an empty hole.  Dean bent to inspect the strange flowers when he heard a worried voice calling out from the direction of his house.

  
    Dad and Sammy stood near the back porch, calling his name frantically. Dean waved his arms so they could see he was safe and started jogging in their direction. Above him, he heard what sounded like thunder, except it was clear and sunny before. Well, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen today, he thought. He looked up and there were no storm clouds, but the sky itself seemed to be rolling. The pinkish sunset sky had turned a threatening purple as the sky seemed to split and masses of dark plane-like shapes poured from the opening, flying in every direction.  Once they leveled out, balls of burning light similar to the meteor, shot from them, but  these felt far more dangerous. Everything in the light's path exploded or caught fire. Trees, homes, cars, nothing was safe as these invaders decimated everything in their path. One of the planes flew directly above Dean, before plummeting straight toward him and crashing into the ground a foot away from him. He then realized they weren't planes, they were people. People with wings. The one who landed in front of him was tall and light-haired, with tan wings that nearly touched the ground when folded behind him. His chest was covered with a white metal breastplate that reminded Dean of a medieval knight's armor, but the rest of his body was unprotected. The winged man gave him a once over and smirked.

  
    "Sorry, child, but this is for the good of the whole world. Welcome to the new age," He raised a long silver blade and lunged towards Dean, who barely had time to raise his arms in defense. He waited for the blade to pierce him, but only felt the tip graze his palm before a pulse of energy exploded from his hands, knocking both him and the man backwards. When he opened his eyes, the man had disappeared. He distantly Sam calling his voice, but he could't really feel anything. He felt like he had been deprived of sleep for a week. The world swam before him and the saw Sam sprinting towards him before the edges of his vision faded to black.


	2. 10 Years Later

    Dean's eyes shot open and he breathed heavily like he had just run a marathon. There was that damn dream again. He flung the thin blankets off himself, threw his feet over the side of his cot, tipping it over in the process, and sprawled onto the cold, stone ground. He scrambled for the small wooden box he kept beside his cot and popped it open, pulling out the small notebook and pen he kept in it. Now just remember. He began scribbling down:

  
Some sort of coliseum.

  
Swords?

  
And…..falling.

  
    “Damnit!” Dean yelled, throwing his pen against the wall. He had had the same dream for 10 years and while, each time, it seemed as real as a memory, when he woke up there was nothing. Most of the notebook's pages were filled with the few nonsense words he could remember and none of them sparked anything after the haze of sleep had disappeared. Dean sighed and flipped the notebook closed, grimacing at the rainbow puppies on the front. It was the best he could find after the invasion.

  
    He tossed the notebook back into the box, making a mental note to find his pen later. Sometimes it was depressing looking at the tiny box and knowing it was all he owned in the world. A few old family pictures, an ornate handgun that was useless now without ammunition, and a bronze amulet Sam got him one Christmas were among his meager possessions. The amulet he pulled out and hung around his neck, for nostalgia if nothing else, and set about putting his corner of the room back together. It wasn't so much a room as a tunnel that they blocked off on one end. The caverns the Resistance had taken up residence in were massive and had so many tunnels they didn't know what to do with all of them. A few were used as trick paths, should any angels figure out they were down here, lots were used for storage, and the rest were empty or used as barracks, like Dean's.

  
    “Well, it's about time Sleeping Beauty woke up,” a voice called from the doorway. Sam leaned against the wall of the barracks, clutching his makeshift clipboard made out of a chunk of plywood.

  
    “Good morning to you too, bitch. Ya' know, you grow any taller, you won't be able to fit in the base anymore,” Dean teased.

  
    “Hilarious as always. You ready to get down to business?” Sam said, waving his clipboard. Dean sighed dramatically and started pulling on his clothes.

  
    “Fine. First order of business: Why wasn't I woken up for training?”

  
    “Bobby said he wanted to work on your shot limit later tonight so you could be exempt from training this morning,” Sam stated, thumbing through his notes.

  
    Dean groaned, “My shot limit is fine. Why does Bobby think torturing me is helping?”

  
    “Because you're our secret weapon. We need you at your A-game so you have to be able to use your magic laser beam more than five times without passing out,” Sam reasoned, while motioning for Dean to get moving.

  
    “Still five more times than you,” Dean mumbled, pulling on his boots, “And don't call it a ‘magic laser beam.’ It sounds too...sci-fi.”

  
    “Whatever, jerk. You ready?”

  
    Dean waved Sam off but followed him down the tunnel anyway. The silence of the barracks melted away into a clamor of voices as people bustled around to their daily tasks. The tunnel gave way to a wide, open chamber large enough to fit a two story house into. The lower level had access to many of the more functional tunnel rooms and, around the perimeter of the room, a walkway that sloped upwards to the barracks level. The newer recruits jogged through the lower level of the main chamber, one of the larger rooms carved by ancient rivers running underground, while people dodged through their ranks with various bundles of things to be tended to. Rope ladders were strung from some tunnels to the floor, as well as pulley systems rigged up to easily move things between levels. Dean waited for Sam to glance around the chaos, picking out the things on his list that were on schedule and checking them off before motioning him to follow down to the main level.

  
    “Alright, I'm ready for the progress report,” Dean stretched and cracked his back a few times, while dodging the runners.

  
    “Ok so Tunnel B-14 has apparently caved in. Jo assures me it had nothing to do with her,” Sam said, sarcastically. Jo was one of the youngest members they had allowed in the Resistance, but it was hard to turn her away when her mother was one of the founding members. Dean rolled his eyes.

  
    “Was there anything in there or did it lead somewhere important?”

  
    “Nope, it was empty and a dead end. We noticed the ceiling looking a little flimsy awhile back so we moved everything out and Jo said you told her to experiment with her emergency flares in there. The builders are using what they can and making sure nothing else will collapse.”

  
    “Well, tell her no more messing with explosives while inside the base. The last thing we need is the whole thing to come down on us. Next,” Dean said, nodding to a few of the “Good mornings” from passing people.

  
    “Done,” Sam scratched a note into his list, “Ash said he wanted you to see the new crossbow he rigged up. He's in weapon development when you're free.”

  
    Dean smirked. He loved when Ash fixed up new weapons, “Got it. I'll go see him after lunch.”

  
    “After lunch is when you're training with Bobby.”

  
    “Damnit! Can't I move that back?” Dean whined.

  
    “He's not gonna budge. He wants as much of your time as you can spare today.”

  
    “Tell him I can't spare any.”

  
    “Too late. He's booked you from lunch until dinner and will hunt you down if you try to skip out again.”

  
    Dean sighed heavily. Bobby training him on his...he didn't even know what to call it. His weird fire power? Whatever it was, it was the worst kind of training. Strength training only wore out his body while his magic training exhausted him so completely it felt like even his mind and soul were worn out. Whatever, he would suck it up again. “Ok, so Ash is doing weapons development again,  Bobby’s doing training as usual, Jo is assigned to clean up her mess,” Dean gestured to Sam to jot that down, “What’s everyone else up to? More importantly, who’s on hunting?” Dean asked.

  
    Sam looked sheepish, “Garth.”

  
    “Oh for God’s sake. Last time Garth was sent out hunting, we didn’t have any meat for a week because he ‘didn’t want to kill Bambi,’”

  
    Sam smirked, “That’s why I sent Rufus with him. If anyone can get Garth to shoot Bambi it’s probably him.”

  
    Dean ran his fingers through his hair irritably, “So what are we on for the day?”

  
    “Were at the market today. Inventory’s already given me the list of things we’re low on,” Sam said, pulling a scribbled-on chunk of cardboard from his clipboard.

  
    Dean mumbled, “Great, market duty. Better than laundry.”

  
    “You’re on laundry tomorrow,” Sam mumbled back.

  
    “Oh fuck me!”

  
    They made it through the chamber and wandered into one of the storage halls. The only contents of these rooms were floor-to-ceiling stacks of toilet paper rolls, courtesy of Chuck, their resident hoarder and biographer. The tunnel extended to another large chamber of the cavern where they held weapons training. Hand-to-hand combat was in a niche off to one side while archery ran up the middle with targets stuck to the far wall. When they entered, the soldiers in training paused their tasks and saluted in their direction. Dean threw back a lazy salute as he and Sam made their way through their rounds.

  
    They continued to wind their way through the cave, checking in on everyone to make sure their tasks were running smoothly. After they had gotten through their list of tasks, they donned the sand colored capes that Resistance members wore outside of the base. Partially to shield themselves from the dust and sun, partially so they could hide their faces, and partially because it couldn’t see seen from the air. Sam gathered the rest of the small team assigned to the market and they began their ascent. Weaving through the tunnels and chambers, they divided up the list and passed around their items to barter. They finally reached a dead end, knocked on the end of the tunnel, and the wall swung out of the way, allowing fresh air and heat to spill into the tunnel. One of the villagers, an elderly man, lived in the small cave above where the Resistance set up base and agreed to use his home as the secret entrance. The squad thanked the old man and helped him replace the slab of stone and flimsy woven curtain that hid the secret entrance before stepping into the sun. Dean sighed as the sun beat down on his face.

  
    “Ready for another boring day, Sammy?”  
   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first real chapter yay! Sorry that it cuts off kind of suddenly, I wanted to post this before I started up school again. Also I can't promise I'll update super regularly but I'll do my best!!! I love this story and I'm determined to finish it no matter what! Thanks for reading, see you next time!
> 
> (Also, feel free to come harass me on tumblr if I take too long to update in the future  
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com   
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com


	3. Ready, Aim, Fire

    Dean sighed as the sun beat down on his face for the first time in weeks. The village itself was a just small cluster of houses, but it was hard to tell with the bustling market nearby. The hills that sat above the Resistance’s cavern system housed a few dead end caves that opened above ground that many survivors of the invasion claimed as their new homes. Nearby, others built their homes from rubble or cleared out the shells of the less damaged homes in the area. Still, everyone needed a way to keep busy and get supplies for their families, so they made or found things to trade in the market. The Resistance had a few favored merchants that would give them their wares for free just for protecting them, but many things still had to be traded for. The group pulled their hoods tighter around their faces and split up to find their assigned items. The atmosphere of the market felt different than it had on most days, like the air was lighter. A quick survey revealed a lack of the angels who normally policed the area. Dean would have to talk to Josie about that later.

  
    He wandered over to the stall where they got their bread. The man who ran the booth tended to have a supply ready for the Resistance, but always wanted something new and exciting as payment. Unfortunately, new and exciting was hard to come by underground.

  
    “Heya, Frank, you got what we need today?” Dean asked.

  
    “Only if you’ve got what I need,” Frank replied.

  
    “Boy, do I ever. I saved these specifically for you,” Dean reached into the bag and pulled out his wares, “This is a new rock our builders just discovered in the furthest part of the cave. Hard as diamonds and once sharpened, will never go dull. Makes the perfect blade for any use,” Dean assured him, placing one of the blades on the stand between them. It was really the same sharpened flint they had been pawning off on everyone but he didn’t need to know that. It was all about presentation. Frank looked over the blade before grabbing it and holding it in front of his eyes, inspecting it.

  
    “If you just discovered it, how do you know it never gets dull?” Frank asked.

  
    Dean sighed exasperatedly, “Look do you want the crap or not? I got places to be today.” Frank glared, but tossed a large sack of bread over the table to Dean, clutching the blades Dean put down. Dean waved a thank you before heading off to his next task. He passed some other sandy cloaks going about their shopping as well, including Kevin getting into a heated argument with one of the vendors about how much firewood a dozen arrowheads were really worth.

  
    After collecting a few more necessities, Dean headed over to Josie’s stand. Josie was a kind old woman who lost her husband in the invasion and set up a stand handing out hot soup to anyone who walked past. As a village favorite, everything she needed was supplied by other villagers, but she just liked the company so she gave out her soup. When Dean approached, she smiled gently and starting filling up a wooden bowl with the soup of the day for him.

  
    “Morning Josie. What’s on the fire for today?” Dean asked, taking the bowl from her.

  
    “Just a little of everything,” she replied, “Danny down the way finally got some potatoes to grow in, so I put a few of those in.”

  
    “Well, it tastes delicious as usual, Josie,” Dean said. In all honesty, it tasted like hot squirrel water like it did every day, but this was as close to home cooking as they ever got anymore. Without further prompting, Josie launched into a tirade of “guess where Sandra’s sleeping lately” and “you will never guess what Derrick did yesterday.” Josie was a terrible gossip, but quite often she was good for important information as well. Dean waited until she exhausted her supply of news, sipping on his soup, before he began his probing.

  
    “So, uh, where are all the angels at lately? It seems a bit quiet down here.”

  
    “Oh I haven’t the foggiest. They’ve been talking real strange lately. Asking about you boys and girls quite a bit and trying to get us to tell them about your hiding places. I tell you, there’s no way I’d tell anything about your group, not after all you’ve done for us. And I don’t even know where you guys actually live, so I couldn’t tell nothing even if-”   

  
    “Yes, yes thank you,” Dean knew from experience to interrupt before she got started on another tangent, “But where are they all now?”

  
    “They all got called back home I think. A few days ago. One minute, they’re patrolling as usual, the next they all take off, straight into the sky. Which was quite rude of them, one of them knocked over my soup pot and didn’t even stop to apologize-”

  
    Dean stopped listening to her ranting. Why would the angels all take off like that? There’s no way they were finally leaving Earth alone. They had gotten their hopes up for that before. He needed to get back to the base. The market group always gave a report when they finished their work, but this seemed a bit more urgent. He thanked Josie and gave her back her bowl, which she didn’t even acknowledge as she had turned to the neighboring booth owner to continue her tale of the rude angel knocking over her soup. Dean grabbed his supply bag and marched back to the meeting place they arranged by one of the last booths before the trek back to the base. Sam and Kevin were already there, discussing their merchandise, while Kevin looked sulky over the amount of firewood he had been given. Dean had barely opened his mouth to tell Sam his news when he heard a distinctive roll of thunder overhead. His stomach plummeted to the ground as he turned to look to the sky. Just as he had suspected, part of the sky was rolling like storm clouds and a rift in the sky formed between them. Tiny, distant shapes poured out of the rift, far more than ever came down for the changing of guards. This was just like the scene everyone recalled from ten years ago.

  
    They were being invaded again.

  
    Dean jumped into action, tossing the bag of bread at Sam and began barking orders, “Kevin, find Jody now and start getting the villagers to the shelters. Sam, rally the troops and grab as many of our weapons you can. Villagers, grab your families and nothing else and head to the shelters. Move, everyone, now!” Everyone scrambled to do their assignments, leaving Dean to help the evacuation. The shelters they had were just unoccupied caves stocked with minimal provision that had never been used before, so hopefully they would withstand the attack. Dean ran to the center of the market, keeping one eye on the sky, waving the frantic villagers towards Kevin and Jody who were cramming as many people into the shelters as possible.

  
    It was chaos. There hadn’t been a large scale attack since the original one and, though they had emergency protocols in place for the village, no one had been briefed on them. People tried taking down their tables and awnings and grabbing all of their possessions, as if someone would try to steal them while everyone was in hiding. No one would be crazy enough to stay out in the open during an angel attack. Well, no one but Dean and his gang. Dean had to yank people away from their tables, shoving them into the mass swarming towards the shelters. He glanced at the sky, trying to count how many angels there were.

  
    This attack was different from the first. There were fewer angels, though that could have been a trick of Dean’s adolescent memory. Also, they weren’t attacking. The goal of the last one was total annihilation. The angels shot beams of light destroying everything in their path. This time they were just flying overhead.  No white light, no attacks of any kind.

  
    Sam returned finally, trailed by the bulk of the Resistance fighters decked out in their sand colored capes and armed with bows and arrows, a few swords taken from killed angels, and some crossbows that must have been an early gift from Ash. Sam tossed Dean a sword and stood at attention, “So, what’s the plan?”

  
    Dean considered the angels’ strange behavior for a moment before facing the group. “For right now, we don’t know what the angels’ goals are so our mission is to find out and screw it up. Sam, take half the group around the south of the market. Jody, take the other half north, through the village. Split yourselves into small groups so you are harder to spot from the air. For now, think stealth. Don’t let yourselves get seen, but if you are, give ‘em hell. I’ll be by Pride Rock, keep someone’s eyes on me. On my signal, we light the bastards up.” The minute Dean stopped talking, the Resistance was on the move. Jody cut her half off from the rest and waved them north. Sam started delegating the leaders of the smaller groups before sending them on their way south. Dean turned to get into position when Sam grabbed him by the elbow jerking him back.

  
    “Are you planning something stupid, Dean?” he asked.

  
    “No more than usual,” Dean responded, with a wink and a smile. Sam’s glare softened and he opened his mouth to say something else, but then clamped it shut again.

  
    “Just...just be careful out there, Dean,” Sam said eventually.

  
    Dean pulled him in for a quick hug, “I always am,” he said, before shoving Sam towards his group and slapping him on the ass. Sam shot him a glare, but turned towards the remainder of the troop and gestured for them to flip their hoods up before heading south.

  
    Dean jogged to Pride Rock, so called because it looked like a small version of the one from the Lion King. At least, everyone seemed to think it did. It had been a long time since anyone watched a movie. Pride Rock jutted out of the ground high enough to cover two of Dean standing on each others’ heads and provided an excellent view of the vast desert that surrounded the village’s oasis. In cases like this, it provided a good vantage point to watch from without being seen. Dean shuffled into a squatting position on top of the rock, peering over the edge. He looked north and south to see if the rest of the members were in view yet, but couldn't see anyone.

  
    In the expanse of the desert, Dean heard a deafening crash. Three angels landed in a triangle formation a short distance away from the rock where Dean crouched, but did not appear to see him. The ground around them was caved in like a crater and they landed crouched down with their massive wings spread out. The one at the head of the formation had massive black wings and dark hair and was flanked by a red-haired, brown winged female and blonde, gray winged male. They all had matching white armor on their chests and had blindingly silver swords tucked into scabbards at their waists.

  
    When they finally folded their wings and rose, they didn’t so much march, but walked with a loose flowing gait that was perfectly mirrored between them. The dark-haired angel at the head spoke to the other two, but Dean couldn't make out entirely what he was saying.

  
    “...the others should come down. The Resistance is not going to fly up to join them...”

  
    The two flanking angels took off, presumably to inform the other angels, who had taking to circling the sky above the village like hawks. So they were weeding out the Resistance. Josie did say that the angels had asked about them, but they were always trying to track down their whereabouts. Maybe they caused enough trouble for the angels that they were taking them seriously. Dean had to smirk at that.

  
    The eerie silence that had settled over the village was broken by a sound like fighter jets breaking the sound barrier. Dean glanced up and saw the circling angels started to dive down towards the ground and were landing to encircle the village. _Shit._ The feathery bastards knew the Resistance would be out somehow and were trying to close them in. A glance to the north showed Kevin peering from under a lean to towards Dean and then Jo watching out from the south. They would have to stand up and fight soon enough. Dean took a deep breath and launched himself from the edge of the rock, sword at the ready, hoping that the dark-haired angel had come close enough to be in reach.

  
    The shocked expression on the angel below him was worth the risk of the attack. He gripped the sword in both hands ready to plunge it into whatever body part he could reach when he felt contact with hard, hot surface that propelled him backwards. The force threw him a few feet before he managed to get his feet back in contact with the ground and swung around to face the angel. He saw the white light of some kind of forcefield fading from around the angel as he drew his sword and glowered at Dean.

  
    “You are not a documented resident of this settlement,” the angel stated, like an accusation.

  
    “Yeah, not big on documentation myself. That was a pretty cool trick you did a second ago,” Dean responded.

  
    The angel’s wings puffed up in irritation, “My defense tactics are not a trick. If you are not a documented resident, then you will be taken in for interrogation.” The raucous laughter from Dean that followed that statement caused the angel to cock his head in confusion.

  
    “Yeah, I don’t think so. I think what’s going to happen is you and your friends are gonna flap your little wings and take yourselves out of our hair forever. Whatcha think?” Dean plastered on a cheesy smile while twirling his sword. The angel glared at the sword in Dean’s hands like its mere presence offended him and then brought his eyes up to Dean’s again.

  
    “I think it’s amusing you believe that,” the angel said, though his face showed none of his supposed amusement.

  
    Dean shrugged, “Your funeral,” he took a deep breath and shouted, “Ready?” He mentally crossed his fingers that their training had paid off.

  
    “Aim!” _Moment of truth._

  
    “FIRE!”

  
    The sound of a hundred bowstrings releasing in sync preceded the rain of arrows that arched high into the air before plummeting down, keeping any angels from escaping to the sky. Dean saw a few arrows make contact, some being deflected by angelic forcefields like the one his face was acquainted with a few moments ago. The Resistance member poured out of the protection of the village and market, falling on the startled angels like rabid dogs. White lights shone from all sides of the desert as the angels with arrows lodged in their wings lost their battles. Dean turned back to the angel in front of him who was seething.  The angel lunged at him, drawing his sword mid-strike. Dean jerked his sword up, barely deflecting the attack, causing the swords to spark at the sudden collision. The angel recovered quickly, lunging in for another strike.

  
    “What happened to taking me in for interrogation?” Dean taunted between parries.

  
    “Resistance members are to be forcibly subdued before being taken into custody,” the angel recited as if he were reading from a handbook, “They will face interrogation as they await trial for their crimes against their colonizers. Those who refuse to cooperate will serve as a lesson to future generations.”

  
    Dean ducked a vicious swing at his head, “Good luck with that. I’m not one who is easily subdued,” Dean joked. The next slash the angel made, Dean shifted his stance and met the sword with his own, shoving the angel backwards. His wings flared out to stabilize himself, allowing Dean an opening to take the offense. Despite Dean’s training being led by less-than-expert swordsmen, he and the angel were pretty evenly matched, exchanging blows evenly. Ten years of having studied the angels’ fighting techniques gave him just enough knowledge to hold his own against one. For instance, angels were used to taking the high ground, diving from the sky or flying out of harm’s way. So Dean attacked from above, slashing downwards and throwing the angel off.

  
    Unfortunately, the angel was a fast learner. On Dean’s next downward strike, the angel had switched sword hands and deflected the strike out and grabbed Dean’s wrist. He twisted his grip, causing Dean to drop his sword and kicked him in the chest, throwing him into Pride Rock.  _It’s always good to have a backup weapon._ Dean recovered his stance and charged the angel, pulling energy from the knot of heat in his chest and channeling it into his fist. The blue light from Dean’s energy struck a solid surface of white light as the angel had thrown another shield. The energies crackled for a moment together before exploding with a crash like thunder, blasting the angel and Dean backwards.

  
    Dean felt more winded than he should have for that short charge, but forced himself to his feet as the dust settled. Where they had met was a large crater. The battles in the distance had gone silent, but Dean thought he might have just gone deaf. The angel was a good twenty feet away and he struggled to his feet, his wings and hair coated in sand. Surprisingly, he didn’t look angry, more shocked or, dare he say, awed.

  
    “How did you do that?” he demanded.

  
    _Not deaf then._ “Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Dean replied.

  
    The angel narrowed his eyes at him curiously, and seemed to be making a decision. His eyes darted to the sky momentarily before returning to Dean as the angel slowly advanced on him. Dean slid into a fighting stance, raising his fists, but then other angels dove from the sky and landed trapping him in a solid circle of wings. Angels were faster and much stronger than humans hand-to-hand so Dean knew he had no chance of fighting so many. But he could get rid of most of them.

  
    He took a deep breath and focused on tapping into the energy at his core. He pulled on it and expanded it to flow into both hands and pressed them together like he was praying. He poured all the energy into building the power in his hands until the point where it was about to explode and he pushed it down and outward, blasting everything around him. The circle of angels dispersed as the blast wave of energy surged outward. Dean’s vision swam and the ground suddenly became much closer to his face. He forced himself to his hands and knees, bracing for an attack. The ring of angels had spread out, not even looking flustered, as if they had been expecting both Dean’s attack and collapse. The dark-haired angel looked smug. _Holy shit, they were expecting it. How?_ Regardless, they knew, and Dean resigned himself to his fate. He was wheezing like he had sprinted a marathon and his muscles refused to hold him up. The world around him faded in and out of focus as he tried fruitlessly to remain conscious. As subtly as possible, he glanced towards the village.

  
    The fighting there has stopped. All the angels who weren’t surrounding Dean were gone or dead and Dean could see someone making the Resistance members retreat towards the shelters. The cloaked figure turned and Dean saw his brother stare back in abject horror. The dark-haired angel was standing in front of Dean, mumbling instructions to the surrounding angels, when Dean heard Sam shout his name across the desert. _Damnit_. Dean tried to tear his focus away from Sam, but the angel caught the direction of his gaze and glanced in Sam’s direction.

  
    “Kill that one now. We don’t have time for more delays,” he commanded one of the nearby angels. The angel stalked towards Sam, drawing his blade.

  
    _No. Not Sammy._ Dean poured every ounce of his will into reaching for the last remaining wisp of light to draw from and forced it into his palm. He sat up and flung the ball of energy with all his remaining strength towards the angel threatening his baby brother. He saw the ball make contact, striking the angel in the center of his back between his wings and saw his brother running towards safety before his arms gave out and his vision went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This one was a long one for me. Sorry it took so long, school papers have been killing all my typing energy and there was a lot to sort out for this. Now, the real fun can start so hopefully I can crank out some more chapters shortly. Thanks for reading!


	4. S&M

  When Dean woke up, his entire body ached. Maybe training with Bobby wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, he thought. He cracked an eye open and saw an expanse of dark stone under him that was surprisingly warm on his face. He shoved himself off the ground, ignoring the screaming in his arms from the exertion of the battle. How long had he been unconscious?  Usually, after overexerting himself like that, he only passed out for a few hours before Bobby dumped a bucket of water on him to start over. It felt like he had been out for days this time.

  
    He first noticed that his cape and heavy combat boots were gone, leaving him barefoot and in a simple T-shirt and patched up jeans. He patted his pockets and, unsurprisingly, all his weapons were gone. Dean reached up to rub a sore spot on his head, but his wrists were weighted down with heavy iron manacles. A thick chain hung from the cuffs and coiled beside him, then trailed up to the wall where they were securely bolted. Very medieval.

  
    Of course, medieval seemed to be the theme. The room was large and square and the walls and floors were uniform black stone. There were no apparent doors or windows, but they had to have gotten him in here somehow. Unless they teleported him into a solid room of rock, but that prospect was too unsettling to give much thought to. In one corner of the room was a giant, round cushion that he assumed was supposed to be his bed and in the other a grimy bucket whose purpose he didn’t want to consider. The only other distinguishing features of the room were some weird glass-looking spheres containing small flames in their centers that were floating in the middle of the ceiling, providing a warm light.   

  
    Dean stood and wandered around the room, to check how far the chains would allow him to move and occasionally knocking on the walls to see if they were solid. The chains only allowed him access to about half of the room so, odds were, the door was on the opposite side.

  
    The sound of stone scraping on stone snapped him out of his searching and he whirled towards the noise, nearly tripping over his chains in the process. Sure enough, a chunk of the wall opposite him had pushed outwards and slid to the side, letting in blinding light and revealing another wall that he assumed was part of a narrow hallway. A figure, wearing a loose toga-like wrap and simple black pants, entered, holding a tray of food and a small stool. Well, son of a bitch. It was the dark-haired angel from the battle. Dean considered charging him, but the angel set the tray on the stool just out of the range of Dean’s restraints and sat crossed-legged behind it, tucking his black wings to avoid bending any feathers.

  
    “You know, as a general rule, I like people to buy me dinner before chaining me to a wall,” Dean said with a smirk.

  
    “I would have, but unfortunately, you were unconscious at the time,” he replied and gestured to the tray, “Please have a seat.” Dean wandered over to where the angel was sitting, but refused to sit, eyeballing the tray of food.

  
    He raised an eyebrow at the spread, “Is that a burger?” he asked.

  
    The angel nodded, “My research indicated that this is common cuisine for a person of your region.” Dean’s stomach growled at the sight, but he shook his head to distract himself. There was no way he was trusting anything made by angels.    

  
    “Boy, you really know how to spoil a girl, featherbrain,” he responded.

  
    The angel cocked his head in confusion, “I am not spoiling a girl, I am just delivering you dinner. Also, my name is Castiel. If you would sit, I would like to ask you some questions.”

  
    Dean couldn't stop the snort of laughter that came out of him, which earned him a glare from the seated angel, “Yeah, no thanks,” Dean shuffled back to the wall his wrists were attached to and plopped on the ground, staring the angel down. Castiel furrowed his brow and ruffled his black wings which looked like barely tangible shadows in the dim light of the cell. He looked like he was about to speak again, but Dean didn’t want to give him the opportunity.

  
    “So do you chain up all your prisoners or just the pretty ones like me?” Dean taunted.

  
    “Your aesthetic appeal has no bearing on how you are detained. You were deemed dangerous and, therefore, must be restrained,” Castiel deadpanned.

  
    “So you do think I’m pretty?” Dean asked, innocence in his voice, but a wolfish grin spread across his face. Castiel huffed and looked away, scratching the back of his neck. If Dean knew anything about body language that meant ‘uncomfortable.’ Jackpot. Castiel pushed himself to his feet, Dean mirroring him to keep them on level ground. Dean advanced as far as his chains would allow, leaning into the angel’s space and lowering his voice an octave, “You know, there are easier ways to get me into bed with you than chaining me up in your sex torture dungeon. Although, I do like your creativity. Very kinky.”

  
    The angel’s face flushed and his wings twitched in embarrassment, “That was not the purpose of bringing you here. If you refuse to give me straight answers, I will take my leave.” Dean noticed the angel refused to look in his eyes now, staring either at Dean’s chest or his gaze flitting to the walls.

  
    “Aw, do you have other prisoners to interrogate? I thought I’d have you all to myself tonight,” Dean winked at the fidgeting angel in front of him.

  
    Castiel had regained enough composure to glare into Dean’s eyes, “That is enough. If I wanted to hear lewd comments, I’d talk to Gab- I’d talk to someone else.”

  
    “Gabe? Who’s Gabe? Maybe they can join, too. I’m not too pic-” Dean was cut off by Castiel grabbing the collar of his shirt and ramming him against the wall. His face was mere inches from Dean and his eyes burning with rage. But why not poke the fire while he was at it.

  
    “You know I get all tingly when you take control, Cas,” Dean rasped out, meeting Castiel’s piercing gaze.

  
    Dean waited for a punch in the face that never came. Instead he was dropped to the ground unceremoniously and Castiel stormed to the door. He waved it open roughly with one hand and slammed it closed behind him, hard enough to make the floating fireballs quiver. Dean rubbed his sore throat and smirked to himself. He may be the prisoner in this situation, but he had managed to get under his captor’s skin. Which meant he had the upper hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! School has been kicking my butt! Also, sorry for the hella short chapter. I decided that this would be the best place to cut it off so it wouldn't just ramble on forever. But I have the next bit written and it's much longer so that'll be up probably tomorrow (Wouldn't want to spoil you with 2 chapters in a day, now would I...)  
> Feel free to come nag me on tumblr if I take too long again. Sometimes I need the kick in the butt...  
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com  
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com


	5. Bruises and Bitemarks

  
    Dean quickly settled into a routine in his dungeon room. He kept the time by the fireballs: they would burn as bright as the sun during the day and dim as the hours went by, eventually providing barely enough light to see by. It was hard to keep track of how many days he had been here, though. The bed the angels had provided was surprisingly comfortable. Dean melted into the fluffy fabric like he was sitting on a marshmallow, but anything was better than the stone floor.

  
    Castiel came back daily to deliver food and attempted to ask Dean questions, some about the Resistance, but most about the power he had. Each time Dean would make inappropriate comments and flirt until Castiel got embarrassed and stormed out. Dean eventually had to eat whatever food Castiel had left him which, thankfully wasn’t poisoned or completely disgusting. They continued this routine for roughly a week before the pattern was interrupted. Instead of Castiel coming in the afternoon, a tall, dark-skinned angel, with deceptively innocent, fluffy looking wings, woke him up in what was probably the early morning. This angel, who Dean dubbed “Chuckles” somehow had less of a sense of humor than Castiel and didn’t embarrass easily. And where Castiel was awkward, Chuckles was violent.

  
    The angel slammed another punch into Dean’s ribs, probably cracking at least one, for the last quip he made. He could’t even remember what he said this time. His mind was clouded with pain, radiating from all over his body. Most of his ribs were probably cracked, one of his ankles was twisted so he avoided putting his full weight on it, and his left eye was completely swollen shut. His wrist was also broken because Chuckles yanked the chains attached to it too roughly when he was fusing the manacles to the wall. Dean dangled by his arms from the wall, not even comprehending the words the angel was growling at him through the fog of pain. A hand grabbed his hair, jerking his head up to force eye contact and pushing Dean’s weight onto his twisted ankle and he gritted his teeth so he didn’t cry out from the pain.

  
    “Send the cute angel back in. You’re no fun,” Dean mumbled, wincing at the pain from his split lip.

  
    “I asked you a question, mud monkey. Generally, it’s polite to respond when your superiors speak to you. Where is the Resistance hiding?” the angel asked. Dean fruitlessly tried to shift his weight onto his non-broken limbs before meeting the angel’s dark eyes.

  
    “Bite me,” he choked out. Chuckles’ face immediately lit up with rage and he drew back a fist for another punch.

  
    “URIEL!” a familiar voice bellowed from the doorway. Castiel stood holding his typical meal tray, wings puffed up so large he looked twice his normal size. Chuckles, apparently Uriel, dropped Dean and turned to face Castiel, standing at attention. The movement jostled Dean’s wrist and a gasp of pain escaped his mouth. Dean scolded himself for the slip, but neither angel seemed to notice as they were too busy trying to burn holes through each other’s skulls. Castiel spoke first, discarding the tray to one side and stalking up to Uriel to stand inches from his face.

  
    “Under whose orders are you torturing my prisoner?”

  
    “Hester did not believe the interrogation was moving fast enough. She sent me to extract information,” Uriel responded.

  
    Castiel’s glare deepened, “Is Hester charged with this prisoner? Or better yet, is Hester your commander?”

  
    “She wanted-”

  
    “Is. Hester. Your commander?”

  
    Uriel paused and bit out, “No,” through gritted teeth. It sounded like Castiel had stepped even closer to Uriel, but it was hard to tell as Dean’s eye had started to swell closed and his line of vision was shrinking.

  
    “Then I would advise you to avoid taking orders from those who are not qualified to give them. Am I clear?” Castiel hissed. A shiver ran up Dean’s spine at the venom in his voice. Cas wasn’t even talking to him and he was getting a little freaked out. Dean’s head started to swim as the adrenaline wore off and he tuned out of the conversation, vaguely aware of footsteps moving away from him and the door scraping shut.

  
    And then he was falling. Maybe not falling, because he was moving far too slowly. Unless his brains were more scrambled than he thought—Uriel had a hell of a right hook. He felt his back gently press against something soft that should have been comforting, but the screaming pain throughout his body kept it from being too sweet. It would be much more comfortable to just pass out. He felt unconsciousness begin to settle over him, but was jostled back to coherence by a two fingers forcing his unbruised eye open and unusually bright blue eyes, filled with concern, hovering over him.

  
     Maybe he was dead, but death wouldn’t be so painful. The owner of the blue eyes was kind of cute, though. Maybe he was here to ferry him into the afterlife or something. The blue-eyed individual was speaking to Dean, but he wasn’t focusing. He looked past the blue eyes and saw the now familiar balls of fire hovering at the ceiling and large black wings at the periphery of his vision, leading him back to blue-eyes. The soft surface underneath him had to be his bed in the dungeon. Great.

  
    He responded to Castiel’s words with a groan and a feeble attempt to shove him away, forgetting his wrist was broken. He didn’t want the angel anywhere near him, much less touching him. A sharp stab of pain lanced up Dean’s arm and he hissed, trying not to scream out. A pair of hands grabbed his broken wrist before Dean could cradle it into his chest.

  
    “I can help if you stop moving around,” Castiel said.

  
    Dean wanted to pull his arm from the angel’s grasp, but he knew it would only jostle the break further, “Don’ want your help,” he grumbled. Castiel huffed, and placed a hand on either side of Dean’s wrist and gently pressed together, a warm white light emanating from his palms. Instantly the pain in wrist melted away and Dean could feel the bones realigning and knitting themselves back together. The light faded and Castiel released Dean’s hand and sat back on his heels. Dean flexed his fingers and rotated his wrist a few times. Good as new.

  
    “How’d you do that?” he demanded.

  
    Castiel smiled, looking relieved, “I’ll tell you if you let me heal the rest of you. By my count you have a sprained ankle, three broken ribs, a possibly fractured zygomatic—”

  
    “Yeah, thanks for the update,” Dean cut him off. As much as he hated the idea of letting an angel work his hoodoo all over him, the pain shooting through his chest with every breath made his decision for him. When he didn’t protest, Castiel moved towards Dean’s legs and began fussing over his ankle.

  
    “I apologize for Uriel, if it helps. He is not very found of humans and tends to be a bit...aggressive,” Castiel said, generating the light from his palms again. The heat soaked into Dean’s ankle like the water from a hot shower and painlessly began to repair the damage.

  
    “Yeah, well angels are dicks, it’s to be expected,” Dean responded. Castiel furrowed his brow but said nothing, gently placing Dean’s healed leg on the ground. He shuffled closer to Dean’s side and pointed to Dean’s bloodied shirt.

  
    “Um...may I?” he asked. It took Dean a second to realize what he meant and mumbled out a “sure” in response. Castiel helped Dean sit up on the cushion as gently as possible, pulled the shirt over his head, and set it beside Dean. Castiel managed to clamp down on a gasp, but Dean could see disgust—or maybe anger—in his eyes. Dean felt like a human punching bag right now, he could only imagine how he looked. Castiel gently pushed Dean to lie down on the bed and got to work again, brushing his hands over Dean’s bare chest with his healing touch.

  
    “So?” Dean prompted, once it became less painful to breathe.

  
    “So...what?” Castiel asked.

  
    “You said you’d tell me how you’re doing that if I played nice,” Dean reminded the distracted angel. Apparently Dean’s bruised and bloody chest was fascinating, “By the way, my eyes are up here,” Dean tried not to chuckle as Castiel jolted. Castiel mumbled and apology and Dean waved him off.

  
    “Angel’s Grace is like a soul is to humans. It is our life force, and the source of our powers,” Castiel said. He sat back on his heels and raised a palm flat, producing a small white flame in the center that had an ethereal glow around it, “Our Grace allows us to create heat, like the fires above you, heal injuries and illness, and— more recently— to destroy,” he said.

  
    The small flame seemed familiar, somehow. Dean raised his hand, mirroring Castiel, and pushed a small amount of energy into it, producing a similar flame, though Dean’s had a blue glow surrounding it.

  
    Castiel started, his flame sputtering out for a moment, before returning full force and being thrust beside Dean’s. Castiel grasped Dean’s hand with his free hand and turned it over, inspecting it from every angle with wonder in his eyes. He pulled Dean’s hand so close to his face, Dean thought he might burn his eyebrows off. Dean briefly thought that his flame matched the angel’s eyes, but quickly shut that out.

  
    “Amazing,” Castiel murmured, “How can a mere human do something like this?”

  
    Castiel’s scrutiny was starting to make Dean uncomfortable, “Hey! There’s nothing ‘mere’ about being human,” Dean protested. He cut the power in his hand to kill the flame and yanked his hand from Castiel’s grip.

  
    “I apologize, I meant no offense. I only meant that you should not be able to do that,” Castiel responded.

  
    “You think I don’t know that?” Dean growled, “As long as I can remember, people treated me like I was some freak or like a god. And my dad—” Dean cut himself off, realizing how much information he had been about to give away. Castiel stared intently, as if hoping that Dean would continue, “Am I done, Doc?” Dean huffed irritably.

  
    Castiel looked disappointed, but shuffled back into Dean’s personal space, “Almost. Just one more thing,” he said. Castiel’s hands came up to cup Dean’s face. He could feel the heat pulse out of them and the swelling in his face started to recede. “Close your eyes,” Castiel whispered, far closer than he probably needed to be. Dean complied and felt fingers gently swipe over his eyelids, that healed the bruising there as well. The warmth faded, but Castiel’s hands remained on Dean’s cheeks. Dean cracked an eye open and watched Castiel inspect every inch of his face like it was the most important thing in the world. Eventually, Castiel sat back and gave Dean a small smile.

  
    “Now you’re done,” he said, “I will leave you to your dinner if you would tell me one thing.”

  
    “And what would that be?”

  
    “Your name. It would be nice if we could stop referring to you as ‘the human prisoner,’” Castiel said.

  
    Surely it couldn't do any harm for them to just know his name, “It’s Dean,” he responded.

  
    “Dean,” Castiel repeated, “That’s a nice name.”

  
    “Yeah yeah, don’t wear it out,” Dean said. Castiel cocked his head, probably not understanding the statement, but stood to leave.

  
    “There is one more thing,” Castiel said.

  
    “Of course there is,” Dean grumbled. Castiel tugged the iron cuffs off the wall and held them out towards Dean. Dean groaned, “Come on. Can’t I be ungrounded on torture day?”

  
    “Again, I apologize. Uriel will be reprimanded. Unfortunately, you are still considered by the council to be a dangerous prisoner and these are required,” Castiel said, clamping the manacles onto Dean’s wrists.

  
    “What, do you not consider me dangerous?” Dean teased.

  
    A smile appeared on Castiel’s lips, “Not particularly. Just noisy”

  
    Dean gaped. “Did you just sass me?”

  
    Castiel’s lips twitched into a smirk. He retrieved the tray of food from the corner where he had left it, placed it on Dean’s lap, and left the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay next chapter! I'm gonna try to get more regular with the updating 'cause I feel bad just letting this sit. Come nag me on tumblr because that's usually where I am when I'm procrastinating...  
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com  
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com


	6. Words As Weapons

    “I thought we were going to avoid personal questions,” Dean said.

  
    “We can’t very well talk about the weather forever, can we?” Castiel responded.

  
    Dean couldn’t help but laugh, almost feeling a little guilty he had taught the angel sass. Almost. It had taken him a few more weeks to actually talk to Castiel after the Uriel Incident. Since Dean was left to his thoughts most of the day, his mind strayed all over the place. The most recent train of thought was that Uriel wasn’t even trying to get information from Dean, but to set up a situation where Castiel could come be the White Knight.

  
    Dean voiced this opinion after Castiel prodded for a reason for his silent treatment. The next day, Castiel marched an irritable Uriel in to deliver his food—oh so graciously—and describe his demotion for the Incident, while Castiel glowered behind him, and Dean couldn’t really hold onto that theory. Despite the fact that he should hate Castiel, there was something in his eyes that just radiated honesty and Dean had no choice but to believe him. He just seemed different.

  
    It helped that Castiel was apparently a huge dork when it came to humans. The first day Dean agreed to talk to him, he gushed questions, asking things like how planes flew and how the pyramids were built. He brought in a box full of old crappy things from Earth, like a hubcap and what looked like a Barbie head, and thrust them all at Dean for him to identify. Dean cackled at the collection, and nicknamed him Ariel for the day.

  
    Castiel had squinted, not understanding the reference, before gathering his junk and hurrying out of the cell, with a mumbled excuse. Dean was confused that he had offended Castiel somehow, but a few hours later, he returned, arms laden with books on Hans Christian Anderson and the Brother’s Grimm, which he dropped at Dean’s feet and began excitedly rambling about old fairy tales and the various retellings of them and ‘how entertaining, yet disturbing human cautionary tales were.’ Now, Castiel had shifted from asking about physical things to trying to pin down human culture.

  
    “I merely asked about familial groups in human populations in general. I didn’t mean for you to bring up yours,” Castiel clarified.

  
    Dean rolled his eyes, “Well I can’t talk about human families without talking about my own, can I?”

  
    Castiel scrunched up his face, “Well, I suppose it’s possible, but you likely know more about your own family structure.”

  
    “No, really?”

  
    “Well yes I—” Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel paused, “Was that sarcasm?”

  
    Dean sighed dramatically. This angel apparently had years of education on nearly all human languages, but trying to teach him to detect sarcasm was fighting a losing battle.

  
    “Yeah it was. OK, so if I answer your question, how ‘bout I get to ask you one?” Dean said. That seemed like the easiest way to make up for their ‘no personal questions’ rule they had made. For Dean’s comfort of course.

  
    Castiel considered for a moment, “That sounds fair.”

  
    Dean pondered how to even start this discussion while he picked at the lunch Castiel had brought in today. “Well, most people live with a mom and a dad, and then however many brothers and sisters they have. But really the possibilities are endless: some people have single moms, single dads, some people’s grandparents live with them, some are adopted by people who aren’t related at all. Again, endless.”

  
    “And...yours?” Castiel prompted.

  
    “I lived with my mom and dad and little brother before the Invasion,” Dean replied.

  
    “What about after?”

  
    “That’s getting awfully close to personal, Cas,” Dean warned.

  
    Castiel fidgeted, as if trying to make himself smaller and less threatening, “I apologize, I did not mean— I mean, I got ahead of myself and—”

  
    “Whatever, it’s cool,” Dean waved him off, “My, uh. My mom was at work at the hospital across town when the Invasion started. And she just… didn’t come home.”

  
    “Dean, I’m so sorry,” Castiel said. And he looked genuinely sympathetic, the bastard.

  
    “Well, a lot of people didn’t come home that day,” Dean replied. The aftermath of that day still stung, not just in a physical way. Dean determinedly did not make eye contact with Castiel, “What are you so apologetic about? For all I know, you could have been the dick that wiped her out,” he spat, but without any real heat.

  
    Castiel fluttered his wings indignantly, “I may be on the enemy side to you, but I regret any loss of life from either side. If you ask me—” he cut himself off.

  
    “What?”

  
    “Nothing,” Castiel snapped, “It is not of import. Regardless, I was still too young to be involved in the initial invasion. So, what kind of situations do you live in now?”

  
    “I ain’t answering that.”

  
    Castiel huffed and flapped his wings a few times, sending a soft gust of wind across Dean’s face. It was never stuffy in this cell—the temperature always seemed perfectly comfortable— but the slight breeze reminded Dean of home. Which Dean did his best to dodge questions about.

  
    “Then what will you answer?” Castiel grumbled.

  
    “Hey, no need to get snippy with me, featherbrain. I believe it’s my turn to ask a question,” Dean said.

  
    Castiel sighed, “Fine, what do you wish to know?”

  
    Dean thought a moment, “Where the hell did you get all those books? Most of our books and paper things got destroyed.”

  
    “Have you ever heard of the Library of Alexandria?” Castiel asked.

  
    “Uh...no,” Dean said, “Keep in mind, I only got up to an eighth-grade education, thanks to you guys.”

  
    Castiel looked abashed, “Apologies. The Library of Alexandria was a huge library in what you call ancient Egypt, where they would store a copy of every document that passed through their ports, from all around the known world. We have done a similar thing throughout human history, with significant works. We even have reproductions of some of the earliest artistic pieces your ancestors painted on walls.” His excitement increased as he spoke. There’s the nerd angel that Dean had come to know.

  
    Dean nodded appreciatively, “Well, that’s actually pretty cool. Don’t imagine you’d lend that to us humans so we could, ya know, relearn our history?”

  
    Castiel grimaced, “I would imagine not.”

  
    “Hey, worth a shot,” Dean shrugged, “So, back to families for a minute. Do angels have parents? Or do you guys just pop out of a cloud one day when they need another soldier?”

  
    “I thought I only promised you one question,” Castiel said.

  
    “Well, you got to hear my sob story. I think that entitles me to another.”

  
    Castiel laughed at that. Maybe just at the nerve of Dean as a puny human and maybe he was genuinely amused. Who knows?

  
    “We have parents, like every creature in the world . Granted, we never know our parents for very long. We’re started young on our training to be soldiers and the elder angels treat all fledglings like their own,” Castiel said.

  
    “So, do you have any siblings or is everyone just a giant happy family?” Dean asked. Castiel gave him a look like he was going to reprimand him for sneaking another question, but he didn’t.

  
    “I do—I did—have four brothers. A few of us were close. The others, not so much,” Castiel said sadly. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but he made Dean talk about his mom, so Dean was going to bring it up anyway.

  
    “What do you mean ‘did?’ What happened?” he asked.

  
    Castiel took a deep breath. His wings seemed to curl around him as he talked, like he was trying to disappear into them, “My second eldest brother Lucifer. He was—to put it nicely—not fond of humans. He was convinced that the Earth should be ours and all the humans were doing was destroying it. A few disagreed, like Gabriel and Michael, our oldest brother, and...they were killed,” he practically whispered the last words.

  
    Dean grimaced. He couldn't imagine anything so controversial that it would rip a family apart like that. From what he had seen, all angels seemed to hate humans equally. It was sort of good to know that there were a few who stood up for the humans. Not so good to know they were all dead though.

  
    “That’s, uh...that’s rough buddy,” Dean offered.

  
    Castiel ruffled his wings and rolled his shoulders back, as if physically trying to shrug off the bad memories, “Yes, I suppose it is ‘rough,’” he said, actually putting air quotes around the last word. Dean struggled to keep down a snort of laughter at that. Castiel straightened his back, all business again.

  
    “I would like to talk about your powers now, since the rest of this discussion hasn’t been terribly informative. My superiors would like to know I’m not wasting my time here,” Castiel said.

  
    Dean snorted, “I’m gonna level with you, Cas: I don’t no shit about this power either. I can’t remember a minute of when it happened. A few times, I feel like I’m getting close, and it just...disappears again.” He thought about his recurring dream, which at this point was nothing more than a fuzzy memory of irritation and the rest was gone. Castiel narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. Dean had come to learn that he did that when thinking too hard or confused. It was kind of endearing.

  
    “I don’t understand. Were you born with this power?” Castiel asked.

  
    Dean shrugged, “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I was just a normal kid for most of my life. Otherwise, you’d think I’d have a better handle on it.”   

  
    “That is very strange.”

  
    “Yeah the whole situation is ‘strange,’ thank you for noticing. Now go tell your superiors I’ve told you all I know. Maybe we can expedite the process of getting my ass out of here,” Dean said. Castiel’s eyes widened and he looked at the ground determinedly.

  
    “Fuck, what? Why are you looking like that?” Dean demanded. Castiel finally met Dean’s gaze, sorrow in his eyes. Fuck. “I’m not getting out, am I?” Dean asked with a humorless chuckle.

  
    “Dean...you have to understand, we can’t just let a prisoner go. There would be no way to get you out without you seeing too much of our home. The fact that you were unconscious for nearly two days when we brought you in was a lucky coincidence. And it would only disadvantage us to release a prisoner with no trade from your side, but you have nothing we need—” Castiel rambled. The whole speech sounded recited and Dean tuned it out. Fuck. He should have expected this.

  
    “So when’s my execution date then?” Dean asked. Castiel stopped speaking and furrowed his brow.

  
    “You are not going to be executed. We do not execute criminals, much less prisoners,” Castiel replied, sounding almost offended. That surprised Dean.

  
    “So how long am I going to be kept here? Until this war thing is over and everyone’s dead?” he demanded. Castiel’s lack of response was enough of an answer and Dean’s blood boiled as he lurched to his feet to stand over Castiel.

  
     Dean bellowed, “So you’re saying that you aren’t going to kill me and you aren’t going to let me go, but I’m gonna rot in this windowless cell for the rest of my life? I’m only twenty-five! Best case scenario, I’ve got another seventy-five years in this hellhole before I shrivel up and die! Once I lose my mind, are you gonna put me out of my misery, or just let me drool all over myself until I drown in it? Putting me down now would be less cruel than that!”

  
    Castiel sat there quietly taking Dean’s abuse, finding extreme interest in his own cuticles. Dean needed something to hit and Castiel wasn’t helping him at all. He kicked over the tray of food, splattering Castiel with the cold leftovers, but still he didn’t react. Dean felt like he was going to scream and cry and explode all at the same time. He turned away, unable to look at Castiel’s sad, passive expression any longer. He kicked his chains out of his way, plopped down on his mattress, facing the stone wall, and curled into a ball.

  
    At some point he heard Castiel quietly rise, pick up the metal tray, and push open the door, but he didn’t acknowledge. The rest of his life was going to be spent in this dank cell with only this dickbag angel and the glowy balls on the ceiling to keep him company. He had only been here a few weeks or so and he could feel himself losing his grip on reality. The only wind he felt was the air blown by Castiel’s wings. There was no warmth to remind him of the feeling of the sun on his face; everything was just a comfortable, moderate temperature all the time. And it was driving Dean insane.

  
    Whatever the angels said, he wasn’t going to rot here for another fifty plus years. He would find a way back home if it killed him. He thought of Sammy, and how he was way too young to have the responsibility of running the Resistance thrust onto his shoulders. He hoped they were managing without him. He wondered if they even missed him. With that last  happy thought to linger in his mind, he slipped into an uneasy, unrestful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really terrible at keeping this up to date. My bad. The semester's going to be winding down soon so hopefully I'll have more time over break to crank out some chapters. Fingers crossed. And I keep distracting myself with new short story ideas, so I'll try to get some of those out of my head as well.
> 
> Nag me on tumblr:   
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com  
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com
> 
> Also, yes all my chapter titles are song lyrics. Sometimes the songs go with the chapters if anyone wants a kind of playlist to go with the story.  
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Memories

    Dean was doing his best not to lose his mind. The unchanging scenery in his cell was making it difficult, though. He did his best to keep his mind busy, but he’d never had much of an imagination.

  
    After his last conversation with Castiel, Dean refused to eat anything he was brought. Any appetite he had disappeared at the thought of the rest of his life in this tiny room. Also, maybe the angels wouldn’t want him starving to death on their consciences (do angels even have consciences?) and would work out a way to let him go.

  
    For some reason, tonight those little floaty light balls were irritating the shit out of him. Dean grabbed the tray that his lunch had been brought in on, chucked the food into the corner, and tried to smack the balls off the ceiling with the tray. He wondered if they were glass or some permanent angel-magic forcefield, but mostly he just wanted them gone. God, he really was losing it.

  
    The grinding of the door opening interrupted Dean’s mission. Judging by the stupid light balls, it was the middle of the night, no one should be coming in here. Dean really hoped it wasn’t Uriel for another fun night of Whack-A-Dean.

  
    The door creaked open slightly, just enough to let a familiar black-winged figure slip through, and then hastily shut the door behind him. He spun to face Dean, clearly not expecting to see Dean on his tiptoes, waving a tray at the lights on the ceiling.

  
    “What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

  
    “Uh, nothing,” Dean flushed and tossed the tray to the ground, “What brings you here so late?”

  
    “This was the only time my superiors wouldn’t notice my absence,” he replied, “I wanted to test a theory I have on your powers.”

  
    Dean stared for a moment and narrowed his eyes, “Ok, first, what’s the theory? Second, how do you plan to test it?”

  
    Castiel shifted uncomfortably for a moment, before steeling himself, “My theory is that your powers are rooted in an angelic source. Whether that root is genetic or of some other origin I—”

  
    “Wait, what? Genetic?” Dean spluttered, “You think I’m part angel? H-How? Why? Wh-What?!”

  
    Castiel sighed, “It’s a working theory. I don’t know how, but then again neither of us would be here if we understood the origin of your power.”

  
    Dean snorted, “What, you wouldn’t have kidnapped me if I hadn’t shot magic laser beams at you?”

  
    “Our orders are typically to kill not capture. I made a decision that my superiors supported that you might prove more useful alive than dead,” Castiel deadpanned, “At first, they were curious about how humans had managed to harness such a power that could harm angels and they were wondered how many of you possessed the skill. Now, they’ve grown bored, as they have a short attention span for any human shenanigans, and don’t really care where your powers came from. Also, they don’t have much time as they’ve been kept rather busy with what’s been happening on Ear-” Castiel snapped his mouth shut.

  
    “Wait, what’s been happening on Earth?” Dean pried. Castiel shifted his gaze to the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. Dean strode towards Castiel as far as the chains would allow him, “Come on, man. Just tell me something,” Dean definitely did not beg. He didn’t know how long he’d been in here but he’d heard nothing about home since he was taken. He was just a little bit desperate.

  
    “I’ve said too much already,” Castiel mumbled. His eyes crept up and met Dean’s briefly, “I’ll make you a deal, though: if you let me conduct my test, I’ll tell you news from Earth.”

  
    Dean nodded enthusiastically, “Sure, whatever. Just tell me anything. Is it bad? I mean, for me. Bad would probably be good for you guys, I guess, and- You still haven’t told me what this test is.”

  
    Castiel was suddenly very interested in the floor, “It’s- uh, well it’s kind of...uncomfortable…” he mumbled. Dean gulped. ‘Uncomfortable’ was never good. Castiel took a deep breath, “It’s a sort of ritual that angels go through before they- uh, mate—”    

Dean held his hands up in surrender and backed away from Castiel, “Whoa whoa whoa, you’re not mating with me, featherbrains.”  
    Castiel’s face flushed so red and so fast Dean though his head might explode, “It’s not like- it’s more of a, uh, coupling. I mean, like a joining of- no, a- um, bonding?” Castiel spluttered through what Dean assumed was an explanation but was not making anything any clearer.

  
    “So...it is sex?” Dean asked.

  
    “NO! No, it’s when two angels decide to become partners and have a family and share a home. I don’t know what the human equivalent is, I haven’t studied that part of your culture,” Castiel rambled.

  
    “So like...marriage?”

  
    “I assume so, yes.”

  
    Dean snorted, “Well, sorry, you’re not marrying me either. I don’t need to know that bad.”

  
    Castiel rolled his eyes, “It’s not mating- er, marriage, exactly. It’s just a ritual that mating pairs do. It allows them to see into the others memories, their history, so they learn more about each other.”

  
    “What, you guys can’t just talk?” Dean asked.

  
    “The way we do it is more efficient. It allows no room for lies,” Castiel replied.

  
    Dean considered this for a moment, “So how do I know this isn’t an elaborate plot to get information on the Resistance?”

  
    “I’ve told you, my superiors no longer believe you have anything important to offer us. In fact, they haven’t required me to interrogate you for some time now, it was simply my curiosity that led me back here everyday,” Castiel said. Dean’s face must have made it obvious he wasn’t convinced, “You have a measure of control over what memories can be accessed. If there’s something you don’t want me to see, you can push me away from it and I will avoid any current memories. Okay?”

  
    There was no way to tell if Castiel was telling the truth or not. This didn’t sound super painful if mating pairs did it voluntarily, but still, he didn’t want Cas poking around in his memories. That was private stuff. But, Dean was curious now. He’d always wanted to know how he got these freak powers and where they came from. If this mating ritual was the only way he could find out, then so be it.

  
    “Ok, so, uh-,” Dean muttered, “How do we do this?”

  
    Castiel looked relieved, but still a hint uncomfortable. He marched over to Dean’s cushion-bed-thing, dragged it into the middle of the room, and gestured for Dean to sit. Dean plopped down on one side and Castiel gingerly set himself down on the other. Dean gestured to his chains, “Any chance we can do something about these?”

  
    Castiel searched Dean’s face suspiciously for a moment before slowly reaching out and placing his hands around the cuffs. He closed his eyes and exhaled and a soft glow emanated from his hands. The glow seeped into the cuffs and lit up strange runes on the surface that connected to each other as the light flowed between them like liquid under the surface of the metal. Once all the runes circled the cuff, a slight click emitted from them and Castiel pulled them off. The whole process, he continually stared at Dean, as if worried that he was going to attack like a wild animal if let loose.

  
    Dean cracked his wrists, relishing the returned range of motion in his wrists and the lack of excess weight, “Thanks. So, should we get started?”

  
    Castiel nodded, apparently satisfied that Dean wasn’t going to lunge at him. He put his hands between them, palms up and lit a small white flame in each hand. After noticing Dean’s confused expression, Castiel gestured for him to do the same. Dean followed Castiel’s lead, summoning his own blue flames in his hands and waited.

  
    Castiel’s white flames slowly grew taller, forming a pillar-like swirl of fire and Dean was surprised to see that his flames did the same, without any additional effort from Dean. Castiel raised his hands and positioned them to where the backs of his hands were being brushed by the flame from Dean’s. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  
    Dean gulped, “As I’ll ever be.”

  
    “Remember, you have control. Any time you want to stop you can push me out,” Castiel assured him. The genuine concern in his voice was really freaking Dean out.

  
    Dean nodded once. _Let’s get this over with._ Castiel slowly turned his palms over and Dean watched the white flame coil into the blue and felt his hands pulled towards Castiel’s like there was a vacuum between them. The second their hands touched, Dean was blinded.

  
    The room he suddenly found himself in was pure white and seemed to glow. He had never been here before so this had to be Castiel’s memories. Sure enough, seconds later, two angels came into his view. The memory was foggy, so Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were laughing. The scene shifted to another space with the same group of angels, this time playfully antagonizing a stuck up angel standing in front of a large gate. Dean could feel Castiel, somehow, sifting through the memories and pushing them away one by one. Every memory that came forward had the same angels, always laughing and enjoying themselves. The way they were interacting, reminded Dean of how he and Sam used to get along, before the Invasion made them grow up so fast.

  
    The thought had barely crossed his mind when the scene faded into a generic hospital waiting room. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had been to a hospital so he must have been very young. A man came charged into the waiting room, a younger version of Dean’s father, and ran directly to Dean. Excitement sparkled in his eyes as he crouched down and explained something to Dean and then took his hand and tugged him into the hospital.

  
    The memory picked up inside a room, with his mom lying in bed, looking exhausted, holding a tiny blue bundle of blankets. Dean could feel a smile break out on his face, even in the memory.

  
    The memories skipped through the years, Sam looking older in each flash Dean could see. Sam and Dean in the backyard of their old house, Dean holding Sam’s hand while walking in the first day of school for Sam, birthday parties, movie nights, each memory triggering more nostalgia. 

  
    Then the memories became a little too recent. Dean was talking to Sam in the barracks of the Resistance base. _Oh no you don’t._ Dean tried squeezing his eyes closed, not quite knowing how else to close off the memory, and surprisingly felt Castiel pull back from the memory and lead it somewhere else.

  
    Finally, it was the day of the invasion. Everyone on Earth could remember what they were doing when the angels invaded. Dean was collecting stones by the creek.

  
    Suddenly, the memories seemed jumpy. Dean could clearly remember running back towards the house as something fell from the sky, but the memory he was seeing now kept lurching from his memory to pure whiteness and back again. It was starting to give him a headache.

  
    Dean could feel Castiel pushing at the white parts of the memory, until they expanded. Suddenly they were in a coliseum. Dean had no clue how they moved into Castiel’s memory from the middle of one of his. The view shifted to the side and Dean could see thousands of angels sitting around the coliseum, but the gaze in the memory fixed on one: a small, black-winged, moppy- haired angel with a grumpy look on his face. There was no mistaking that it was Cas, but then whose memory was this? Something seemed familiar about this place, but Dean couldn't place why.

  
    Whoever’s eyes they were looking through were drawn back to the center of the coliseum towards another angel who appeared to be speaking. The memory jumped and they were right next to the other angel, looking out at the crowd. The memory fixed on Castiel again before facing the other angel who was far too close. Even through the memory, Dean could feel a stab to his chest and looked down to see a silver sword protruding from it.

  
    Next thing he knew, he was falling. He couldn't see anything, just felt the sensation of wind flying by. Dean had no idea how long the memory had gone on but suddenly, he saw a 14 year old version of himself staring up at whoever or whatever was falling before a blinding light engulfed him.

  
    Dean lurched back. He was back in the dark cell with Castiel, who had somehow fallen off the cushion and was breathing heavily. Dean took a second to realize he was wheezing as well.

  
    “What. The hell. Was that?” Dean choked out.

  
    Castiel stared back at him with wide eyes and whispered, “Gabriel.”  
    “What?”

  
    “Gabriel?!?” Castiel scrambled across the cushion towards Dean and took his face in his hands.

  
    “Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Dean asked.

  
    “Hold out your hand, we have to go back. We have to do it again,” Castiel demanded.

  
    “Hell no, we didn’t get anything useful the first time.”

  
    “We have to, hold out your hand.”

  
    “Why are you being so weird?”

  
    “HOW DID MY BROTHER’S GRACE ATTACH ITSELF TO YOU?” Castiel screamed.  At some point, he had grabbed a handful of Dean’s shirt and now was inches from his face looking frantic. When no answer presented itself from Dean’s face he crumpled in on himself.

  
    After what seemed like an eternity Castiel finally spoke, “That memory. It had to be my brother Gabriel’s. He was killed the day the Invasion took place by our brother Lucifer.”

  
    “I’ve seen that place before. I’ve dreamt about it before, but I never remember it when I wake up,” Dean said.

  
    Castiel looked up at Dean, “What exactly do you remember from before the Invasion, Dean?”

  
    Dean shrugged, “Basically, what we just saw. I was down at the creek, I saw a giant fireball coming towards me, I tried to run, and there was a big explosion. Then angels started pouring out of the sky and—”

  
    “And what?” Castiel prodded.

  
    “And I think I vaporized one,” Dean said.

  
    Castiel furrowed his brow, “Is that the first time you remember having powers? After the explosion?”

  
    “I never really thought about it but yes?” Dean replied.

  
    “That should be impossible,” Castiel muttered. He got up and started pacing around the room.

  
    “What should be impossible?”

  
    “I think somehow you got your powers from Gabriel’s Grace. I don’t know how it managed to get to Earth but that had to be the fireball you said you saw. I suppose standing so the impact hit you with some kind of debris, but it should not have— I don’t know, none of this makes any sense,” Castiel rambled.

  
    “So you’re saying I have angel Grace inside me?” Dean asked, “Ew.” Castiel shot him a glare. “Sorry.”

  
    “Grace typically doesn’t react well to human influence, so I’m not sure how, but it would appear so. Gabriel was always strange, spending far too much time on earth so possibly—” Castiel paused, “Your powers burn blue, yes?”

  
    “Uh, sure,” Dean mumbled. He lit a small flame in his hand to demonstrate. Sure enough, it had a slight blueish tint to it.

  
    Castiel’s face scrunched up, as he appeared to be thinking deeply, “Perhaps, since it has been exposed to you for so long, the blue is your humanity influencing it. Maybe, that’s how you can survive using it.”

  
    “Wait, _survive_?” Dean spluttered, “Is it _supposed_ to kill me?”

  
    “Grace is not meant to be harnessed by anyone other than angels. Some have tried to use it before, but it always ends disastrously. In a being born with Grace, it doesn’t affect us at all to use it. I suppose since your were so young, you were able to adapt to it, which is why it’s so strange and only makes you weak when you use it,” Castiel explained, “I suspect that as more of your humanity seeps into Gab—your Grace it will be less exhausting for you to harness it. 

  
    “Well, that’s a lot to take in,” Dean stated.

  
    “Indeed it is. I should go, though, my superiors will start to wonder where I’ve been,” Castiel rose to leave.

  
    Dean nodded, before it dawned on him, “Hey, wait! You said you’d tell me news from earth.”

  
    Castiel paused at the door, “Yes, I suppose I did. It’s not much just—your friends from the Resistance are putting up quite a struggle. All the locals have joined in and essentially revolted all angel supervision. They’re still attempting to patrol, but it’s becoming increasingly dangerous. For the angels.”

  
    “Huh,” Dean said, attempting to hold back a smile, “Good to know.”

  
    Castiel smirked at him, “I figured you would enjoy that news. Goodnight Dean.” Castiel creaked open the door and then slipped out of the cell, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

  
    At least he finally knew where his powers came from. The fact that they were from an angel would probably not sit well with the Resistance, but that could be something he would keep to himself if he got back. When he got back. Because now that he knew that they were still fighting he knew he had to get back home. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. I'm so sorry I'm a giant trash can. For some reason I kept getting stuck on this chapter and the 3 times I had energy to write I could not make this come out. But I muscled through because I promised you all and myself that I would not abandon this story til it was freaking DONE. So hopefully the rest of the story will flow a bit better. I'm not gonna promise a regular posting schedule cuz I know I can't stick to schedules to save my life, but chapter will come more frequently!! I hope..  
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com  
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com


	8. Skyway Avenue

    Despite the size of the cell, Dean’s feet were starting to hurt from all his pacing. His soul-searching session with Castiel left him with more questions than answers. Shortly after the ritual, Castiel snuck Dean some books on Angelic Grace from the library, hoping they would help, but they didn’t cover anything relevant to Dean’s situation. Also, Dean was too freaked out after flipping through the first book and realizing he was somehow reading Enochian to touch the rest of the books.

  
    Dean spent most of his time trying to think philosophically about what it means to be human in an effort to make his power more stronger. Dean could put more power behind each blast if he didn’t have to worry about collapsing afterwards.

  
    ‘Humanizing’ his Grace (which still squicked him out to think about) could also be his key to getting out of here. The cell was protected against angel attacks, since it was normally meant to contain other angels, but likely had no such protection against something that wasn’t fully angelic.

  
    Every few laps around the cell, Dean took a deep breath, charged up a fireball, and launched it against one of the walls. They did nothing. Still too much angelic influence.

  
    Dean plopped down on his cushion and lit a tiny fireball, which he twirled between his fingers. His brain was starting to hurt. What really makes someone human? And how in the hell do you make humanity come out through the palms of your hands?

  
    Dean’s thoughts drifted back home. He was so proud of Sam for keeping the Resistance up. He always knew that Sam should have been the leader, not him. Just because Dean had some freaky built-in weapon didn’t mean that he was qualified to lead people. He would have preferred a permanent job in the field. Organizing provisions? Not his strong suit. Antagonizing people (angels) who piss him off? Now that was his specialty.

  
    He hoped the angels weren’t getting too violent with them though. Dean didn’t know what he would do if one of his friends got killed doing his job for him. Sure, it was bound to be part of the job, but Dean was supposed to be down there with them, risking it all. Instead he was god-knows-where, getting buddy-buddy with the enemy. Although, as far as enemies go, Castiel wasn’t so bad.

  
    Dean hardly noticed the small flame dancing between his fingers growing steadily warmer until it was hot enough to pull him out of his thoughts. The normally sky-blue flame was now glowing electric blue and Dean didn’t even feel like he was doing anything to keep it lit. Sure enough, when he pulled back the power from his palms a little, the flame stayed just as bright.

  
    Dean jumped to hit feet, resuming his pacing, all the while steadily adding tiny amounts of power to the flame. After a few minutes, and very little effort, Dean had a flame the size of a basketball held between his hands. When he finally cut it off, Dean realized that he didn’t feel at all exerted. Normally with that amount of power output he would have had to at least sit down for awhile.

  
    Dean charged up another flame and launched it at the opposite wall. Again, it left no mark on the gray wall.

  
    “What the hell?” Dean muttered. He relit the flame and realized it had returned to its light blue shade. Great. Looks like the angelic influence was a bit stronger than Dean thought. Stupid Gabriel.

  
     Dean racked his brain for exactly what he did differently the last time. Did he summon the flame differently? He stared at the pale flame in his hand angrily. What was special about the last one?

  
    Sam. He was thinking of home and Sam and all the people he left behind. The second the revelation hit him, blue light began to seep into the flame. Dean quickly ran through all his memories like a slideshow. He thought of Sam, Jo, Jodi, Kevin, Bobby, the entire Resistance. He took his worry about his friends and family and the anger he felt that any of them might get hurt and poured in all into the palms of his hands. Slowly, the flame grew hotter and bluer and swirled itself into a fireball. An involuntary laugh slipped out of Dean’s mouth. He had done it.

  
    Before Dean could revel in his triumph, the door screeched open. Well, it was now of never. Sorry Cas.

  
    Without a second thought, Dean launched the fireball towards the opening doorway. He knew this one would accomplish something, but he couldn't predict the level of impact it would have.

  
    As soon as the fireball touched the stone door, it exploded in a plume of blue fire. The door was knocked backwards, slamming the angel attempting to enter into the opposite wall, and shattered. The crumbled remains of the door fell around the angel, who was completely motionless. When the fire finally dissipated, Dean could see the charred outline of feathers on the wall, spread out from the heap of rubble in front of him.    

  
    Dean’s stomach sank. He wasn’t expecting to fry the poor angel, just knock him back a bit. He didn’t know why he was so concerned over the angel, after all he was keeping him prisoner, but the idea that Dean killed him made his chest tight.

  
    Dean ran into the hallway and looked over the pile of rubble, before shoving some rocks aside. Sticking out of the bottom of the pile was a white feather, singed at the end, but still recognizably white. A few more rocks revealed that it wasn’t Castiel, it was Uriel. Who happened to be clutching a silver knife in his hand.

  
    Dean sighed in relief. Why, he still didn’t know, but he would have to worry about that later. For now he had to get out.

  
    The hallway he had seen from his cell was the same dark stone he had been staring at for God knows how long. There were no windows and no markers for any other cell as far as the eye could see and the hall was so narrow Dean’s shoulders could barely pass through. He supposed that was so angel prisoners couldn’t move their wings at all. Pretty inconvenient for the jailers too. The hall extended in both directions, one end turned another way and the other appeared to be a dead end. Wow, which way to go?

  
    The sound of footsteps snapped Dean’s attention to the open end of the hall. Castiel skidded around the corner and paused to survey the scene in front of him. And he looked livid.

  
    “Guess I’m going the other way,” Dean mumbled, before turning tail and sprinting towards the dead end. He charged up another fireball, hoping this one would stay blue, and launched it at the solid wall. Dean was rewarded with the sound of another explosion and the wall in front of him crumbling to reveal bright light and sky. Jackpot.

  
    Dean scrambled over the wreckage towards the light, ignoring the angels’ voices screaming behind him. As soon as Dean’s feet hit pavement, he started running faster than he ever had before. There was nothing Dean could see around except the open sky and yellow pavement. He was so screwed if there wasn’t a way out. Once the angels started flying he was a dead man.

  
    Suddenly, the pavement stopped, leaving nothing but open sky, both above and below. Dean skidded to a stop to avoid toppling over the edge, frantically spinning his arms to regain balance. Somehow, he forgot that the angels came out of the sky when they attacked. Makes sense that their home would be in the sky too. Crap.

  
    A thud on the pavement behind him made Dean whirl around, only to have a hand clamped around his windpipe. Castiel yanked him close enough that all Dean could see of him was his fury-filled blue eyes.

  
    “What the hell was that?” Castiel growled, “You killed Uriel! What if that had been me?”

  
    What if it had been Cas? The idea sent a pang through Dean’s chest. “Sorry Cas, not really the ‘live-out-your-days-in-captivity’ type,” Dean choked out. Dean grabbed onto the arm that was cutting off his air supply and pushed enough power into his hand to burn. Castiel lurched away from Dean, hissed and grasped the red welt that formed on his arm.

  
    That’s when Dean noticed behind Castiel, there was a whole swarm of armored angels pouring out of the newly formed hole in the prison wall. And Dean was trapped at the edge of their castle in the sky with one way down. Well, one idea came to mind, but it wasn’t a very good one. Oh well, he didn’t have a lot of options.

  
    Dean grabbed Castiel, spun him around to face the other angels, and wrapped his arm under his neck, putting him in a chokehold. He lit a flame in his free hand and held it up to Castiel’s head. Castiel struggled against his grip, but froze when the blue flame was held up.

  
    “Ok, I’m not gonna screw around here. You’ve seen what this can do,” Dean said, gesturing to his fireball, “Now you all are going to take a few steps back, or your favorite prison guard gets a new hole in his head, capisce?”

  
    The angels hesitated, but a nod from Castiel made them comply. Dean took a few steps backwards towards the edge of the pavement, “Now, Castiel, you’re going to help me get back to the ground safely, alright?” Dean asked. The only response he got was a growl and more struggling.

  
    “Yeah, yeah, love you too. And nobody follow us or..ya know, same thing as before,” Dean yelled to the crowd, waving his fireball for effect.

  
    _Son of a bitch, this is not how I want to die_ , Dean thought. He took one last step and dragged Castiel with him over the edge and into the open sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Slightly less of a wait for this chapter! (I'm sorry I'm trying really... >.>)  
> But here it is! Things are starting to happen!! Enjoy!
> 
> stalk me on tumblr too, yo:  
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com  
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com


	9. Free Falling

When Dean was little, one of his friends from school went on a skydiving trip with his parents and then spent a solid month trying to convince Dean it was the most fun he’d ever had. 

He was a fucking liar. Free-falling from the sky is the worst. 

Granted, there was less of a chance of his friend ending up splattered on the pavement than Dean, but technicalities. 

The only thing Dean could hear was the wind whipping around him while he plummeted towards the ground. He still had his arm clamped around a struggling Castiel so hard that Dean was surprised he could still breathe. They was no way in hell that he was letting go, though. 

Dean’s brain didn’t seem to be functioning well enough to form a plan to not die. Guess the ground flying ever closer to his squishy body each second short-circuited his decision making abilities. Also, the giant black wings constantly pushing against him were a bit distracting. 

“Let go, Dean! I need to get my wings out,” Castiel shouted over the wind. 

Dean scoffed, “Right, so you can flutter back up to you flying castle and get some popcorn while I splat on the ground?”

“What’s stopping both of us from ‘splatting’ right now?” Castiel asked. If their situation was less dire, Dean probably would have laughed at Castiel’s implied air quotes. 

Honestly, Dean was planning to use Cas as a sort of kite to coast them both to the ground, but so far that wasn’t working out. His impromptu escape attempt left them in a tricky position for gliding and he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to avoid this situation. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Cas that, though. 

“Now you have more incentive to figure something out, featherbrain,” Dean shouted back. He couldn’t hear it, but he felt Castiel growl against his arm. The ground was taking far too long to get to them. A change in wind currents sent the pair spinning so Dean got a clear view of the expanse of brown that was the earth and Dean changed his mind: the ground was way too close. Dean felt Castiel push his wings against him, but they were still firmly clamped down by Dean’s chest. 

Castiel suddenly arched his back and then flipped forward, sending Dean flying over his shoulders and into open air. 

Well, shit. 

Dean spun through the air, unable to stop his momentum, and saw a familiar black-winged figured circling above him. Asshole. Every time Dean got a glimpse of the ground it was worryingly closer to him. Well, he supposed it was better than being stuck in a dark cave for the rest of his life. Dean’s momentum finally gave out and pointed him face down towards the ground. Great. 

Something like claws suddenly dug hard into Dean’s shoulders and he jerked to a stop for a moment, before continuing to fall. Dean was almost able to make out details to the landscape below when suddenly, the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short! I was gonna type up the next part and combine them if it was short enough, but then I got distracted (How to Get Away With Murder curse ye!) so I'll just post this bit for now. Next chapter is in progress though!  
> Follow me on tumblr yo:   
> main blog: one-armed-sad-trash-hobo.tumblr.com  
> writing only blog: sad-trash-writing.tumblr.com


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